


Oblivious

by Tizniz



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 4th year Yule Ball, Draco is conflicted, F/M, Hermione is oblivious, Ron's an idiot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-09
Updated: 2019-03-09
Packaged: 2019-11-14 05:16:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18046199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tizniz/pseuds/Tizniz
Summary: Draco will admit that Hermione is a brilliant witch, but there are still moments when she is incredibly oblivious.





	Oblivious

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sayrahsunshine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sayrahsunshine/gifts).



> For my lovely Sarah. Happy birthday darling!

Draco’s eyes skim across the crowd once again, his lip curling up ever so slightly in the corner as he watched his fellow classmates spin and twirl and move to the music pounding across the room.  
The formal part of the evening for the Yule Ball had come and gone, and most of the professors had taken their leave, allowing the younger wizards and witches to thoroughly enjoy the night of festivities.  
Draco cared little for it.

“Are you ever going to come dance?” An exasperated voice says from his left, and Draco’s eyes flicker over to where Pansy is standing, arms crossed and a pout resting on her painted lips.  
Her dark hair and been pinned up into some elaborate style, and she’d chosen a striking red dress that left little to any wizard’s imagination for what lay under it. The colour did suite her, and the style was particularly right for Pansy and her personality, but overall, the look did nothing for Draco.  
“No.” He replies, lifting the glass of chilled pumpkin juice in his hand to take a sip, “Better off finding someone who will actually dance with you.”  
“Why did you even invite me, Malfoy?” Pansy hisses, eyes narrowing dangerously. “Why did I waste this,” She gestures at her body, “On you!”  
He shrugs casually, “Couldn't tell you.” His gaze has already wandered away from her and into the crowd, catching on a familiar periwinkle blue. “But it isn’t as if you are short of admirers, Parkinson.”  
And that much was true. Standing only a short distance away from the two Slytherin’s was a gathering of boys all eagerly and openly staring over at Pansy. She would have her pick of whomever she liked best, and seconds when she was done with him.  
Which was exactly her style.

“Still think it was a waste of time,” Pansy huffs, “You inviting me.”  
Resisting the urge to roll his eyes at her nearly whine of a tone, Draco forces his gaze away from the periwinkle blue and onto his housemate, “Pansy. You asked me to invite you to this wretched event. You do not get to scold me for not dancing when the only reason we are here together is because of you.” She opens her mouth to protest, but Draco is swifter, “So turn around and go pick one of your followers. Do with them what you will, and then cast them aside for another. But please, and I am asking you nicely, please do kindly fuck off.”  
Pansy’s mouth snaps shut and she glares one last time at him before spinning on her sharply pointed heel and marching over to the group of onlookers, all suddenly perking up at the chance to dance with the Pansy Parkinson.  
Having that settled, Draco relaxes back against the wall once more and lifts his glass to take another sip, eyes drifting across the crowd and finding the periwinkle has moved.

Placing his glass on a nearby table, he takes a measured step forward, watching the scene unfold before him slowly.  
Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger were stood in the opposite corner, heads bent together as they spoke, and while from this distance he couldn’t hear them, Draco could tell it was not a pleasant conversation.  
Granger’s features were tight and furious looking, her hands clenched tightly into fists at her sides as her brown eyes were narrowed into a deadly glare as she appeared to be practically spitting words across the space and towards Weasley.  
The redhead on the other hand seemed to be almost bored and tired of the conversation, barely paying attention to the witch speaking to him.  
Even Draco knew that that was a mistake.

The next second, everything changes.  
Weasley says something, although Draco isn’t sure what, but it has Granger recoiling, eyes wide and mouth falling open. The tension is evident even from across the room, and Draco watches as the witch replies with some comment before turning and marching away, lifting a hand to discreetly wipe the corner of her eyes.  
Draco’s lips press together into a firm line as his eyes dart away from the disappearing periwinkle and over to Weasley, who remains where he’s standing for a moment, blinking in confusion before shrugging and rejoining the crowd of dancers.  
He isn’t even going to attempt to follow Granger. Nor apologize for upsetting her.

A mental debate forms in Draco’s mind as he goes back and forth over whether to follow after the clearly upset witch or to remain in the party.  
There was no reason for him to go after Granger.  
Truly, there wasn’t.  
He didn’t care for her. Or that Weasley had upset her. Or anything.  
No. He would remain in the party.

That decision lasted a whole breath before Draco was winding through the tables and chairs and heading for the door where a witch wearing periwinkle had slipped through and away from the party only a minute ago.

Ignoring the inner voice demanding to know what in the world he was doing, Draco takes casual steps down the hall.  
There are a few students lingering out here, taking a break from the noise and heat of the hall, but his reputation allows him to move past them unnoticed, all not daring to try and drag Draco Malfoy into a conversation.  
As he moves away from those students and into a deserted hallway, his footsteps echo off of the stone. There’s a sound of muffled crying, and he knows in his bones that it’s Granger.  
And for some reason, the sound has him bristling angrily. Stupid Weasley.

Draco knows that Granger is aware of his approach, his footsteps are loud in the empty hallway, but as he comes to a stop at the bottom of the staircase where she’d stopped, the witch doesn’t look up. Instead, her sobs continue as her shoulders shake and her head remains bowed over her bent knees, tear drops darkening the fabric resting across her skin.  
What Draco doesn’t know, or understand really, is why he needs her to stop crying. Normally, he’d say because the display of emotion is a sign of weakness and also is a nuisance, but that excuse fades quickly from his mind. No, he needed Granger to stop crying because...because why?

If he was to be completely and brutally honest with himself, it was because the sight of the witch crying bothered him on a more personal level.  
But he wasn’t willing to be that honest. Not yet.  
And so, he does the only other thing he can think of: be his usual pompous self.

Adjusting his stance, Draco tucks his hands into the discreet pockets of his dress trousers, peering down at the still-crying witch, “Granger, what on earth are you doing?”That worked. Sort of.At least she wasn’t openly sobbing anymore. No, instead she was glaring up at him.Well done, Malfoy.“Why do you care?”  
Why did he care?  
It wasn’t as if he had found his gaze constantly drawn to her through the duration of the night. It wasn’t as if he found himself captivated by the floaty material that he had momentarily sworn was the same colour as the sky. It wasn’t as if he was attracted to the curve of her neck that was normally hidden away by her uncontrollable curls. And it certainly wasn’t as if he wondered when the hell Hermione freaking Granger had developed a body like that.No.Draco Malfoy did not care about any of that, nor about Hermione Granger, or why she was currently hiding away in a corner while a Yule ball was happening in the next room over, or why she had stormed away from a certain Weasley and had him following her out of the room.No.He did not care whatsoever.

“Because the sight of you sprawled across the floor and weeping like a pathetic child is ruining the mood of the party.” Draco replies smoothly.  
“I’m not in the party.”  
“You’re near it.”  
“I am far from it!” Hermione snaps, “And I didn’t realize I had invited you to follow after me, Malfoy. So if you could just—” She breaks off, flapping a hand wildly in the vague direction of the party. Draco simply quirks an eyebrow, waiting for her to continue. But instead she just growls and shoves herself to her feet, “What are you doing here, Malfoy?”  
“I do believe I came here for the same reasons as you,” He drawls, lips twitching up into a smirk, “To learn about how to harness and strengthen our magic. Or did you come to Hogwarts for a different reason, Granger?”  
Another growl comes from her, and he nearly chuckles at the frustration. It was almost too easy at times.  
“That isn’t what I meant, and you know it!”  
“You didn’t specify.”  
“I didn’t think I needed to!”  
“Clearly you were mistaken.”  
“Yes,” Hermione crosses her arms tightly, “Clearly.” Her head is tilted back slightly so she can meet his gaze, and it’s only then that Draco realizes the height difference between them. Nothing large, but just enough that she would have to stretch onto her toes to—

He stops that thought in its track.  
Had he truly been about to consider kissing Hermione Granger?  
No. Of course not.  
He didn’t care for her like that.  
She was annoying, a bookworm, muggle-born, a know-it-all, and worst of all, was friends with Potter and Weasley.  
Those were the traits he needed to focus on.  
Not the fact that this close to her, he could see flecks of gold in her brown eyes. Or that a few curls had escaped her attempt at controlling them and were framing her face and brushing against her shoulders. Or that the dress left her collarbone bare and exposed and the lines there were captivating. Or that in class when she got told an answer was right she gets this pleased little smile and shifts a bit in her seat happily. Or that when she’s worried, she chews on her bottom lip and it can be very distracting. Or that….well, Draco was now realizing that he could continue to list other traits about Hermione Granger that were not necessarily bad.

“What did he say?”  
That startles her, and she blinks up at him, “Pardon?”  
“Weasley. What did he say to upset you?”  
“Nothing.”  
“Liar.”  
“I am not lying!”  
“Then tell me what he said.”  
“What does it matter?”  
Draco shrugs, “Curious.”  
That, and he needed to know how to punish the redhead for causing her to cry.  
Hermione pauses, chewing thoughtfully on her lip, and Draco finds his entire world focusing in on her lips, his breath catching in his throat as he thinks about how they would feel, how they would taste.  
Fuck.

“He said I was a boring date.”  
Shaking off the daze, Draco blinks at her, “What?”  
“Ron. He said I was a boring date.”  
“I thought he didn’t ask you.”  
Hermione sends him a brief curious look, “How do you...nevermind.” She shakes her head, “Yes, I came with Viktor originally, but that was because he needed a partner to dance with. I also agreed to go with Ron,” Her eyes fall to the ground, “But apparently that was a mistake.”  
“Why did he call you boring?”

Why did he keep asking questions?!  
Why had he not walked away yet?!  
Except Draco knew. He knew why.  
Because despite every single bit of denial he had tried to create within himself, there was no way of hiding from it now: he wanted Hermione Granger.  
Bloody hell.

The witch in front of him shrugs, “I suppose because I didn’t want to dance with him. Or drink any of the drinks that Fred and George brought. Or sneak off like—” She pauses, a flush spreading across her cheeks, “Nevermind that.”  
A white-hot flame of jealousy surges through Draco’s chest; had Weasley tried to get her to sneak off with him like some of the other couples at the Yule Ball? Like those who hid in darkened corridors or closests and got a little closer to their date where peering eyes could not see?  
“And that,” Draco says carefully as to not reveal his true feelings, “Makes you boring?”  
“Apparently.”  
“Stupid.”  
“What?!”  
“Not you, Granger,” He rolls his eyes, “I’m not daft and would never dare to call you stupid.”  
“Oh.”  
“But Weasley certainly is.” He finishes with a sniff. “Not wanting to do those things does not make you boring. Besides, none of that sounds particularly thrilling either.”  
“You...wait, what?”  
“This whole,” Draco removes a hand from his pocket to wave casually in the direction of where the ball was located, “Event is ridiculous. And the expectations to act a certain way are just as, if not more, ridiculous.”  
“You really think that?”  
“Yes, Granger. Just because I was raised in pureblood society being forced to attend stuffy events like this, it does not mean I particularly enjoy them.”  
“I didn’t think that,” Hermione shakes her head, “I never assumed you enjoyed it. But I suppose I didn’t think you thought they were ridiculous either.”  
Draco shrugs, “Waste of time.”  
“I don’t know about that…” She trails off, hands fidgeting in front of the skirt of her dress, “They can be fun. And it’s a nice excuse to dress up.”  
“Yes,” He mumbles, eyes falling the length of her body briefly, “That is true…” When his eyes lift up to meet hers again, a flush has spread across her cheeks once more. Clearing his throat, he shifts on his feet, “You, well, you…”  
“Yes?” Hermione asks, staring innocently up at him.  
She truly had no idea, Draco thinks, she suspects absolutely nothing. And why would she?

Clearing his throat once more, Draco straightens his back, “You look quite nice tonight, Hermione.”  
Her eyes widen a fraction, her mouth parting in surprise, but he’s also pleased to see that she’s not recoiling from the comment. In face, she looks happy about it.  
“I—Well—Thank you, Draco.”  
It’s then he realizes he used her name. Her first name.  
“And,” He continues on, deciding there was no turning back, “I think you should ignore what Weasely said. You aren’t a boring date. I mean, you and I have been conversing for this long and I’m not bored yet.”  
Her lips curve up into a smile, “But this isn’t a date, Draco.”  
“I know that.” He snaps out, only half as harshly as he intended, “And I wasn’t...I just...I was simply saying that a date with you would not be boring, Granger!”   
“What makes you say that?”  
Merlin, was she truly that oblivious?!  
“Because,” Draco’s hand flaps between them, but he’s careful to not hit her as they’ve apparently moved closer, “Because you are incapable of being boring! You have all those facts and bits of knowledge inside of your head! You could talk about literally anything and be fascinated! Not to mention that when you do get into a particularly passionate spiel you tend to light up and look ecstatic and it’s slightly infectious and so thus you are incapable of being boring.”  
The silence stretches between them, and Hermione blinks slowly up at him. Draco bites down on his tongue to prevent himself from saying anything else, because he’d already dug himself into quite the hole.  
He was meant to hate Granger.  
Not keep complimenting her.

“If it makes any difference,” Hermione finally says, her words carefully chosen, “I don’t think you’d be a boring date either.”  
He can’t help but scoff at that, “Of course I wouldn’t be. I would be the best date you’ve ever had. Ever will have.”  
A small sigh escapes her, “There’s the Draco Malfoy I know.”  
“Yes, well,” His fingers tap against his leg, “Are you done crying or are you going to continue to hide out here?”  
“I wasn’t hiding.”  
“Yes, you were.”  
“I was not!”  
“Stop lying, Granger. It’s not a good thing to do on a first date.” Draco states, holding out his hand, “Shall we?”  
Hermione splutters briefly, “First date?”  
“Yes, well, we have to prove Weasley wrong. Show him that you are not actually a boring date. And then preferably having him grovelling at me feet and begging for you to come back to him. At which time you will refuse to do so.”  
“What?”  
Rolling his eyes, Draco wiggles his fingers, “Hand, Granger.” Her hand rests against his, and he smoothly tucks it into the crook of his elbow before starting to lead her down the hall and back towards the Yule Ball.  
“Draco…” He can feel her peering up at her, “Are we...is this...I thought you came here with Pansy.”  
“Merlin,” He mutters under his breath, “You truly are oblivious.”  
“Excuse me?”

Coming to an abrupt stop, Draco spins around to face her once more. He watches as her breath catches and her eyes widen once more. But he decides that there’s no more thinking.  
Just doing.  
His hand moves up to her cheek, his touch gentle and more of a caress; his thumb brushes against her bottom lip as he leans down and closes the distance between them.  
“Draco—” He captures his name with his lips, silencing anything else that the witch may have tried to say. He was done speaking with words anyways.  
For a heartbeat, Hermione is unresponsive under his touch, but then she’s leaning in to the kiss, her own lips pressing against his own, and when he swipes his tongue along her bottom lip, she gasps softly into the kiss, allowing him the access he had been silently asking for.

She tastes sweet, Draco thinks as the kiss deepens. She tastes like Granger.  
And it is the most delicious taste in the world, he decides. A taste he would never tire of.  
He pulls back slowly, smirking as she leans forward to chase after his lips, her eyes fluttering open in a daze. Her lips are swollen and pink, her cheeks are flushed prettily, and her eyes are dark and hungry.  
Perfection.  
“Uh.”  
“Eloquently put, Granger.”  
That snaps her out of the daze, and her eyes flash at him as she smacks his chest, “What was that?!”  
“I do believe most people would call that a kiss.”  
“I know that, but well…”  
“Well?” He challenges. His hand was still resting on her cheek, his thumb moving gently against her cheekbone. Neither were making any move to separate.  
“It’s us.” Hermione says, her voice barely a breath.  
“It is.”  
“So?”  
“Come now, Granger. You can’t honestly be that daft.”  
“I’m not daft, Malfoy.”  
“No,” Draco chuckles warmly, “You certainly are not. Except for when it comes to the painfully obvious.”  
“Then I suppose it’s a good thing you’re around to point it out, hm?” She asks, her lips curving up into a smile that has his heart skipping a beat. Her hand rests warmly against his chest and she’s lifting up onto her toes, her smiling lips drawing closer to his.  
“Yes,” He mumbles in agreement, “Yes it is.”


End file.
